La Petite Mort
by arthur.chr
Summary: The concept of death is something obscure for a nation. Perhaps it is why playing games with a noose sounded so appealing to Arthur. (FrUK. Rated M for obvious reasons, nothing too explicit though. Contains breathplay; read at your own risks. Originally written for a friend, as a literary challenge: a kink, a story.)


It had started in bed, when Arthur had agreed to let his lover Francis choke him during their moments together. It just started with a simple game; he would let the Frenchman wrap his strong hands around his throat and squeeze, _squeeze_ until he reached his orgasm; and then they would swap.

In the following days, Arthur had asked to add a little supplement : generally a scarf, a rope, or a plastic bag over the head. It gave the advantage to have their hands free for other things... And their sessions started to become longer; before they could even realise, they started to asphyxiate each other until they almost blacked out.

But as the days went by, the Briton began to wonder if they could go further. The thing is, nations are hard to kill; this gave them endless possibilities to exploit. And that's exactly what he intended to do : exploit this near-immortality to go further in their exploration of breathplay.

That's why one day, he decided to ask. They were cuddling on the bed when it happened.

"Frog..."

"Oui, Arthur ?" Francis answered with slight curiosity. When Arthur started like that, it usually meant that he had something to ask.

"There's... Something I want to try," he finally said. He didn't know how to formulate his request with tact.

"Something ? Again ?" the Frenchman asked with a raised brow and his curiousity excited. Whatever it would be, it would surely be interesting, knowing his lover and his very imaginative mind. "What would it be ?" he wondered, anxious and concerned. "Would it have something to do with our 'time together' ?"

 _Ah, he knows how to pick hints when he wants to,_ Arthur thought.

"Yes..." he replied with a half-smile.

Francis' curiousity was spiked with this answer. "I'm listening," he said with a smile.

"Well... You see how we... asphyxiate each other ?"

"Yes ?"

"I thought... That we could do that, but... Not the usual way."

 _Not the usual way ? What did he mean by that ?_

"Go on," Francis finally said.

"We could do it in another way, with something that would add more... thrill, I dare say."

Arthur slightly averted his eyes, his face taking on a light pink colouration. He hated beating around the bush, but he really didn't know how to say it clearly. It embarrassed him quite a tad to admit what he really thought.

"More... thrill. Like... Something more dangerous; an instrument ?" Francis didn't really understand Arthur's reaction, but he found it cute. He was really the type to get embarrassed over things like these; although once they go to bed, his character changes completely; as if the gentleman disappeared to give the spotlight to the ruthless pirate deep inside.

"Y-yes, something like that." He really tried not to stutter. But it got even worse when he saw his lover's amused smile. "Q-quit mocking me you idiot...!"

"I am not," Francis added with a chuckle.

"A-anyway. Indeed, I was thinking about using instruments..."

"Hm... Like a garotte ?"

A garotte ? Ah, that would be an interesting thing to use. He surely could find an old one; and if not, he could build one; it wouldn't take so long : a chair with straps and a rope linked to a rotating piece of wood.

But that's not exactly what he had in mind. What he had in mind was something... bigger.

"It could be a garotte... Which would be interesting to use. But... I wasn't exactly thinking about that..." he trailed off.

"Ah ? What would you want to use then ?" The older nation couldn't really think about other instruments... Sure, there was the gallows, but it wasn't exactly an instrument.

"Well... It's not exactly an instrument..." the Brit muttered, now looking down with embarrassement.

"... A gallows pole ?" Francis uncertainly asked. Did he read his thoughts ?

Arthur nodded. It wasn't the thing itself that embarrassed him; it was more the dirty thoughts accompanying it. He had often been a witness of public hangings when it was still allowed by the law; and what he saw always left him wondering : how would it feel ?

He had noticed how the male convicted were hard when they were dropped down in a short drop. The effect of asphyxia made them fully erect most of the time, harder than the Brit had ever seen anyone. And sometimes, they would even come. He knew it was due to the muscle relaxation when they died, but he just couldn't help wondering.

In the end, he started to imagine; such guilty thoughts often were his company when he had nothing else to fill his mind. And soon, he started wanking to it with a tight scarf or a rope around his neck. Yes, he knew his behaviour would be considered as deviant; the infamous hangman's noose supposedly invented by his people was made to kill, not to provide sexual pleasure.

But what to expect from a near-immortal being with a taste for sado-masochistic activites ?

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up when he heard his boyfriend softly laugh.

"Ah, Arthur. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I think we all wondered how it would feel to experience something like that. Though I didn't think I would meet someone who would actually have it as a kink..." Francis said.

These words gave the Englishman more confidence about it. He softly smiled before answering.

"You say the sweetest things, chap."

And it was with this implicit agreement that they planned where and when they would carry out this 'execution'.

* * *

A few days later, the French nation was in Arthur's attic that had been prepared for the occasion : in the centre of the room, there was just a stool, and dangling above it, the noose waiting for a life to claim.

On his side, the Brit had prepared himself with the help of his lover to the 'hempen gig', as his people called it. Francis had made him wait the previous night in the small room next to the attic with his hands tightly bound behind his back and his ankles restrained with thick cuffs that could allow only small steps.

He was slightly nervous at the idea of what awaited in the next room, but he was also very excited and started to be aroused by the situation : helplessly bound in a cold and dark room and waiting for his executioner to lead him to his fate. He couldn't explain that feeling; a normal person would be freaking out and be scared witless.

 _A normal person_. Ergo, not a nation seeking thrills by exploring extreme fetishes like him. Even Francis had made a remark about his habit to play such dangerous games. Not that he minded participating. It's not like he had never imagined his neck under the blade of a guillotine many times before... Besides, he would have the occasion to kill him off he often dreamt about.

Such thoughts filled Arthur's mind as the steps in the hallway were getting closer. The door opened on Francis, already fully in character with his cold smirk and judging stare. Oh, how Arthur loved it when his lover acted dominantly like that... Not that he would ever admit it. Which is why he stared back at him with an equally disdainful face.

"Get up, it's time," Francis spat without any apparent emotion in his voice. But inside, he was boiling with excitement. He just couldn't tell how long he had waited for such an occasion to come; what was even better was that it was Arthur who asked for it.

With a glare, the Brit slowly stood up with the help of the wall.

"I almost had to wait. Don't you know how cold it is in there ?" he chided.

"Oh, poor you." Francis answered with sarcasm. "It's not like it's going to be warmer where you're going to go, so you might as well get used to it now."

"You bast-" Arthur was cut off by a harsh punch in the face that made his lip bleed.

"Is that a way to talk to the one who has your pathetic life in his hand ?" Francis spat again.

Okay, maybe he enjoyed this too much. But it was a rare occasion !

"Sorry..." Arthur lowly sneered without a glance.

Francis forcefully grabbed a fistful of the Brit's blonde hair and forced him to look up straight in his eyes, cerulean 'cold' blue meeting blazing green.

"You don't have any respect for your elders, do you ? No wonder you ended up in such a situation... A pure delinquent."

Arthur smirked at this words.

"Is it worth a death sentence to be a delinquent ? You 'elders' should learn to loosen up."

"A normal delinquent wouldn't be here, if you get what I mean," the Frenchman replied with a cruel smirk that made Arthur shiver. "You are here to atone for your witchcraft sins, Mr. Kirkland."

"My... witchcraft sins ?"

With a radiant but scornful smirk, Francis led him to the next room, where the improvised gallows awaited. Arthur couldn't help nervously gulping at the sight of the noose, and a strange but familiar heat invaded his underbelly.

"Yes, your witchcraft sins. And here is what is reserved for evil beings like you..." Francis added as he pointed at the dangling rope. "Now, if you confess your evil doings, you may have a chance to save yourself..." he concluded with a stare that meant a lot.

"I will not confess to something I've never done." Arthur spat out, well aware of the real meaning behind this phrase. "It is just an accusation misguided by poor 'testimonies' from false witnesses, isn't it ?"

"And how would you explain that the person you hated with a passion for accusing you of being a spawn of the devil died in 'strange and unexplained circumstances' shortly after he met you in that pub ?"

Oh.

"Well... It could be because of anything... Who knows ? A heart attack due to his bad habits with alcohol and greasy feasts, maybe ? We all knew he wouldn't last long," Arthur answered without batting an eye. He was quite confident with his opinion.

"And how would you explain that some of the familiars present there saw you muttering something with a death glare behind his back ? One even saw those green eyes glow like those of a cat in the dark... Even the bartender looked frightened as if he had seen the Devil itself." Francis countered while staring right into 'those green eyes' with a barely hidden judging look.

"You... There's nothing you can prove. Where are your so-called witnesses ?" Arthur briskly answered.

"Where ?" Francis asked with mild amusement in front of the Brit's haughty behaviour. "They all fell sick the day following this event. Strange, isn't it ?"

During their exchange, Francis had been pacing around Arthur, whom he had sat on the stool.

"And quite convenient for you, you damned scoundrel-"

The Brit had barely finished his sentence, when Francis grabbed his throat with a firm hand. The former started to get really excited now.

"Tsk tsk tsk... You won't understand, will you ? Perhaps I will have to give you a little lesson. Who knows ? Maybe it will be decisive..." he mused with a mischievous tone and a hungry glow in his eyes.

Arthur gulped with difficulty under that indecent stare.

"A... lesson ?" he wheezed out. With such a look on his face, it could only mean one thing... Which was confirmed when Francis dragged him off the stool to force him to get on his knees, still with his hand wrapped around his throat.

"I guess no one will mind if I have some fun with you first, right ?" he said as he unbuckled his belt with his free hand and opened the zipper of his trousers to reveal his shaft.

"You... You are just as bad as I am..." the Brit managed to spit.

"I understand that you must want to go to Hell now, yes ? Too bad." He let go of the Englishman's throat.

The situation was getting Arthur awfully heated up, and he wanted it to last as long as it could. So with a defeated sigh, he got closer.

"You won't go to Heaven either with that..." he scoffed before taking the semi hard member in his mouth.

"For now, I'm not the one in a weak position, mon cher~"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur began to suck and swallow the prick, eliciting low moans from his judge, whom grabbed his hair again and forced himself further down the Brit's throat and started to grind his crotch with his foot; it made it hard for him to concentrate on his task, as he was hardening as well and felt frustrated from the lack of real friction. The whimpers resulting from it made the Frenchman chuckle.

"Oh, did I say that you would have fun as well ? I don't think so. You should be grateful that I even let you live this long."

And he should have been grateful that Arthur wanted to stay in character as much as he could, because it was really tempting to bite into the rod of flesh. Such thoughts crossed the Brit's mind as he continued to fulfill his task.

And some minutes later, Francis came in his mouth with a deep moan. At least, he managed to please him. He even showed his satisfaction with a pat on the head as he pulled out, slightly panting.

"You... I don't know what you call a male temptress, but that's what you are," he panted as he rearranged himself.

"Tch, you didn't mind it one bit, as I can see..." the Brit answered with slight impatience.

"I can always say that you have enchanted me," Francis retorted as he helped Arthur up.

"I wouldn't have even needed to do it in other circumstances..."

He realised his mistake as soon as he finished talking. Francis had realised it too, and with a cold smirk, he made the Brit climb on the stool and slipped the noose around his neck, placing the knot on the left side of his jaw and tightening it.

Damn him and his loud mouth.

"Well," Francis began as he circled him, "it appears that you have finally confessed your real nature... To think that you almost tricked me into freeing you..."

Arthur nervously fidgeted on the stool.

"I could have let you go, with the good job you did..." he continued as he took a blindfold out of his pocket. "But confessions are confessions, and the law is the law." He then proceeded into tying the black piece of cloth over the Brit's eyes.

Arthur couldn't help feeling more nervous; but his arousal was clearly showing too. Francis seemed to understand that, and he unbuckled the Englishman's belt and unbuttoned his trousers to free his cock, which earned a soft sight of relief from the latter.

"My, are you such a depraved spawn of Hell that even such a situation arouses you ?" Francis mocked as he wrapped a hand around the hard prick.

"Hng... Y-you..." Arthur couldn't continue with Francis beginning to jerk him off. He decided to simply enjoy his 'final moments' instead of trying to plea for his cause.

"Such a shameless man-whore..." Francis sneered as he went faster with his hand, earning barely refrained moans from the convicted. "They did well to sentence you to death." He continued for a minute, before abruptly stopping; to which Arthur answered with a whimper of frustration.

"Oh, maybe you wanted to come one last time ?"

"Y-you son of a whore..."

The Frenchman coldly laughed.

"I guess you didn't then," he continued as he grabbed one foot of the stool. "Any last words ?"

He didn't even have to think to find them.

"I'll see you in Hell, you can be sure of that."

 _Even there he stays the same haughty man_ , Francis thought with amusement.

"Only God knows."

With these words, the Frenchman pulled the stool from under Arthur's feet. The noose tightened, and the rope became taut.

The Brit's head jerked on the side, and he hung still for a few seconds before starting to kick around -or rather, he tried to, because his ankles were still bound. His lungs already burned with the craving for fresh air, and his mouth was gaping as he desperatly tried to breathe in.

Francis stepped back to watch the show, hardening again at the sight of his Brit slowly dying at the end of the noose. He looked... strangely beautiful. The Frenchman couldn't understand how or why, but the display of that tight necklace of a rope around his lover's neck was something appealing. Could it be what had pushed Arthur to do it, this strange attraction towards what he couldn't understand ? Or maybe it was a challenge, to push his boundaries as far as he could ?

Whatever it was, he felt like he could grasp whatever had gone through his lover's mind when he started feeling desire from such a fetish.

It didn't take a thought for his hand to reach for his cock again as he watched his lover's wonderful last dance.

Arthur couldn't even think about what Francis thought of his 'prestation'; in fact, he couldn't think at all. There was a dull pounding to his ears and his pipe was nearly crushed by the merciless noose. But as though his body wanted to match his lover's arousal, his cock was fully erect; the Brit was harder than he had ever been. Even though the ordeal was incredibly painful, he felt good; even as he died slowly, he felt an intense pleasure invade him, something greater than what he had expected.

And shortly after, he finally came, just as Francis finished relieving himself with a loud moan, like a response to the former's forced silence.

* * *

A few hours later, Arthur finally began to stir up from his forced, dreamless sleep. When he opened his eyes, he found himself laying on the bed next to Francis, who was reading. He felt absolutely exhausted, and could barely raise his head up to look at his lover.

"Ah, finally back, I see," Francis said with a mere smile.

"... Did I take long...?" Arthur asked with a wince, his voice scratchy and barely above a whisper.

"A few hours. It's half past 8 p.m. now."

Wow. So he did let him die. Nice.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Francis set his book aside and turned to the Brit, and started to massage his sore throat.

"You know... I really thought about cutting you down. But you seemed to enjoy yourself so much that I let you continue to dance... And by the time I realised that you had come, you were already gone."

It was true. He really wanted Arthur to enjoy it as much as he could; but there was more to it : he really enjoyed his lover's dance, and he didn't want to miss any moment of it. Which is why he had let him hang until it was too late. It sounded quite selfish when said that way; so he chose to not bring it up.

"... You enjoyed it too, didn't you ?" Arthur quietly asked as he looked at Francis in the eyes.

"..." He took a few seconds before answering. "I did. In all honesty..." he began, with a guilty blush on his face, "you looked... beautiful."

"B-beautiful ?" the English nation asked with surprise. How could he look beautiful when he was dying ?

"Oui... I... I don't understand why, nor how, but you looked absolutely desirable and wonderful in your last moments..." This time, it was Francis' turn to look away.

Arthur stared at his lover for a moment before speaking up again.

"I... I guess I know how you feel..."

Francis looked up with surprise.

"... I often wondered what was wrong with me when I started developing such... feelings. And then, one day, I realised: I just wouldn't ever understand." He paused there to let this sink in, and resumed.

"It started with being a witness of a horrible thing, someone dying on the word of a random judge. I felt bad from it at first, but my curiosity got the best of me... And I learnt to accept this extreme and morbid curiosity, even if I couldn't understand it."

Francis was amazed. When did Arthur learn to analyse feelings and thoughts like that ?

"But today made me ask myself this question," Arthur continued, "is it because I am an immortal being that I feel such an attraction to something unreachable ? It would seem rather strange and contradictory, but when you think about it..."

"... It all makes sense," Francis finished with a small smile. Who could have thought that his frenemy could be his most understanding confidante ? "Arthur... Merci."

"For what ?"

"For being you."

The Brit quietly chuckled as he curled up in his lover's arms and closed his eyes. "Silly Frog..."

With a content sigh, Francis wrapped his arms tighter around his Brit and buried his face in the fair hair before closing his eyes.

He couldn't wait for Arthur to use the garotte on him next time.


End file.
